Ghost of the Sea
by Cosmokitt
Summary: Meredith found In the infamous Phantom of the Opera, washed up on her beach with no memory of who he used to be. Without his memories, he has a chance to start over, but both he and Meredith are living on borrowed time.
1. Chapter 1

Erik stood poised on the edge cliff overlooking the sea. The waves were stained orange and red by the setting sun, and Erik just stood there, staring. He had no idea how long he had stood there. Minutes? Hours? He had no idea. Every day that passed after the ordeal at the opera house was one more day he regretted his existence, knowing in his heart that life would be better for so many people if his mother had killed him as a child, like he knew she wanted to. He hoped beyond hope that Christine was happy with her new life, that what he had done to her didn't leave her permanently scarred. He turned his gaze to the churning water below, considering the 200 foot drop into the murky depths. He would have to spend the rest of his life in hiding, and what sort of life was that? He had never lived a good life, and what was the point of starting now?

Erik took a deep breath, closed his eyes...

...and jumped.

Meredith Durand rolled her dough out roughly on the stone counter of her kitchen, digging her palms in before rolling it over. She dusted more flour on the counter, looking up through the kitchen window. Her little cottage was on the edge of the beach, and the ocean was only a few meters away from her front door. She sighed and began rolling the dough into little rounds, placing them only a greased pan. The oven was warm, and she slid the kouign amann and closed the door. She rubbed the flour off her hands and removed her apron. A small calico meowed loudly and rubbed against her legs.

"If I had anything better to do, I'd do it, Tabitha." Meredith muttered, leaning over and scratching the cat between the ears. Tabitha was her only friend in her secluded home by the sea, aside from her occasional visits to a friend in town. She opened her cabinet, putting away the bag of flour, noting the lack of food that remained. She breathed heavily through her nose, annoyed. She hated going into town. That meant talking to people and risking their scrutiny. She knew people judged her.

She pulled her wild red curls out of her face, tying them back into a tail at the nape of her neck. She pulled a jug a milk out of the icebox and poured it into a bowl and placed it on the floor, where Tabitha happily lapped it up. With some time still left on her rolls, which would be her breakfast, she stepped out into the sand, going barefoot and feeling it between her toes. She lifted the skirts of her green dress to avoid them getting wet by the incoming tide. Sea foam swept across her feet and she closed her eyes, breathing in the salty air.

"Just as the doctor ordered," she muttered sarcastically, opening her eyes. The morning sun glinted on the ocean, and she squinted her eyes to avoid burning her retinas. She turned to go back inside, but something caught her eye, and feeding her curiosity, she turned to look. She saw something large washed up on the shore. From afar, it looked like a large fish, but the longer she looked, the more it looked like a person. She picked up the pace as she headed towards it, wondering if it were really possible that a human washed up on her beach. It was a man who had washed up, half buried in the sand. He was tall, with broad shoulders, and had blonde hair. She rolled him over, wondering if there was any hope in saving him. She nearly screamed in shock when his face was pulled out of the sand. Half his face was disfigured, like the skin had been melted away from his face. It took her a few seconds to get over the shock, before she shook her head and began compressions on the man's chest, breathing into his mouth. When that didn't seem to work, she brought down her fists on his chest with all the force she could muster, and the man spluttered back to life, violently vomiting sea water. He coughed a few times, continuing to spit out water. Finally he settled back into the sand, still unconscious. When she managed to tear her eyes away from his face, she noticed the blood in the sand around his head. She knew head wounds bled a lot, making them seem more severe than they actually were, but it probably still needed to be looked at and taken care of. She studies him, wondering how she was going to get him back to the house. Hooking two arms under his armpits, she attempted dragging him through the sand. She made it about three feet before her strength putted out. She took a breather and then tried again. This time she managed to get him closer to the house, struggling with trying to get him onto the porch, and even more so when she tried to get him in the door. She left him on the floor of her sitting room for a minute, wiping the sweat from her brow. Tabitha came over to inspect the man, her tail swishing back and forth with distrust. She barred her teeth and hissed at the unconscious man.

"Piss off," Meredith muttered, pushing Tabitha away with his foot. "Be nice to our new guest." Come to think of it, this person was the first man to be in this house since her father left years ago. She wondered what people would think if they knew she was alone with some random man in her house.

She rolled the man up onto the couch and began tending to his head wound. Once it was cleaned and wrapped, she gingerly checked the rest of his body for injuries. Something crumpled in his pocket and she extracted it with her nails gently. The paper was badly damaged by water, but it was recognizable for what it was.

"Oh no," she murmured, turning the suicide note over in her hands, trying to find some indication of the man's identity. _Sorry_ and _forgive_ were clearly legible, along with a name scribbled at the bottom accompanied by _your angel_.

"Erik." She murmured. On the other side of the paper was a woman's name. _Christine. _"You poor man."


	2. Chapter 2

After a couple hours, the man began to stir, and at last he opened his eyes. He shot up, pressing a hand to his head.

"W-where am I? Who are you?" He demanded. His blue eyes darted around wildly, and he stood up, a little too quickly.

"Careful, you sustained a serious head injury," Meredith warned, going to help him when he started wavering. But when she went to go touch his arm, he lashed out, slamming her against the wall of her living room. He held his arm across her chest, and his disfigured face was wild with anger and confusion.

"I just wanted to help," she gasped, the force of the blow knocking the wind out of her. "It's Erik, right? That's your name?"

The anger faded and he continued to look around, his expression almost that of a lost child, separated from a parent.

"Is that my name?" He seemed to have just noticed that he was pinning Meredith against the wall, and he backed away quickly. "I-I'm sorry. Who are you?" He repeated.

"My name is Meredith Durand." She said slowly. "You're in a cottage by the sea outside of Le Havre, France."

"France." He murmured.

"Yes. I found you washed up on the beach, with this," she gingerly handed him the note. "That's what made me think your name was Erik."

He examined the piece of paper, turning it over and scrutinizing each corner of it. "Who is Christine?" He seemed to be asking himself that. He ran a hand through his thin blonde hair and his hand brushed against the mutilated side of his face. He explored the texture of his cheek with concern, looking around as though for a mirror. Meredith went to her bedroom and returned with a small handheld mirror.

"Here."

He examined his face and the hand holding the mirror was shaking. "No wonder I threw myself into the ocean." He said dryly.

"It's not so bad." Meredith tried to be reassuring. She felt like she understood him a little. Being overweight brought a lot of unwanted scrutiny from a lot of people. She has always been chubby, but the last few years she had put on more weight, causing people to treat her like she wasn't even a person just because of her size. She imagined that people treated this man the same way, which might have contributed to why he had wanted to die.

With the mirror he inspected her bandage work on his head. "That's probably why you don't remember anything." Celeste supplied.

Erik nodded, and he sat down on the sofa, head in his hands. "I can leave as soon as you need me to," he mumbled.

"No, it's alright." Meredith said quickly. "You can stay as long as you need."

He looked up, confused. "But I attacked you."

"I would have lashed out too if I woke up in some strange place, not knowing who I am." Meredith shrugged. She was a little disconcerted that she'd been pressed against a wall, but once Erik realized what he was doing, he stopped and apologized.

He put his face in his hands. "I'm so confused."

"You're not the only one,"

He looked down at himself, at his damp clothing. He wore a puffy white shirt, tight black trousers, and black turndown boots. He picked at his shirt, pulling on his boots, searching as though he clothing could give him some answer as to who he was.

"Do you want something else to wear?" Meredith asked. "I think I have some clothes that might fit you."

Erik shrugged, not looking up at her. Meredith made her way to the extra bedroom, which had some of her father's old things hanging up in the closet. When the smell of her father drifted out of the closet as she opened the door, she winced, the familiar smell bringing back unpleasant memories. She hadn't gotten rid of her father's things because she didn't want to think about him, but for now she held her breath and grabbed a few things that would fit Erik.

"Here." She set the clothes on Erik's lap.

"Thank you." He murmured, then headed off to change. Meredith watched him go, wondering if there was some divine reason this man had washed up on her beach.


	3. Chapter 3

Erik woke up late the next day, wandering into the kitchen around noon, looking groggy and confused.

"What time is it?"

"Just past twelve." Meredith said, wiping the flour from her nose. "Are you hungry?"

"I don't know." Erik sat down heavily at the kitchen table, head in his hands.

"So I had an idea." Meredith said, sitting across from him. "I have to go into town and pick up some food and some other stuff for the house, I have a friend who's a librarian and might be able to help us figure out who you were. He hoards news papers and such, and might be able to find something on missing persons about you."

Erik was quiet for a while. "I don't know if I want to know who I was. I mean, life can't have been all that great if I threw myself off a ledge. Whoever that Christine person might be, she's probably better off without me."

Meredith twisted her mouth. "Maybe you avoiding death would give you a new perspective on life. Maybe you'll realize that whatever problem drove you to that ledge wasn't that bad, and you can make things right, whatever that might mean."

"Thanks, Meredith." Erik looked up at her, his eyes red and face flushed. She moved around the table, pressing a hand to his head. Her fingertips brushed the deformity on the left side of his face and it took all she could not to recoil. His skin had a weird texture there. But her touch revealed that he was very warm.

"You're running a fever." She said in surprise. She moved around to the back of his head, removing his bandages and checking his wounds. "These look bad," She grabbed some bottles from the bathroom and poured them into a rag. "This is going to sting." The cuts on the back of Erik's head were red, puffy, and inflamed. Clear puss drained as she cleaned the wound. Erik winced when she pressed the rag to his head, but he gave no further protest.

"I don't feel sick." Erik murmured, but he sure sounded sick.

"Well you have me fooled. I guess there's no going into town for you. You should stay here."

"Mm." Erik murmured, appearing to almost be nodding off.

"Come on," Meredith hoisted Erik to his feet. "You should go back to bed." She led him to the bedroom, laying him back down. "Your body needs time to recover."

She sat on the edge of his bed as he settled into the blankets. Tabitha hopped up on the bed, curling up at Erik's feet. Meredith scratched her ears for a minute, thinking.

"Erik, I know you said you didn't want to find out who you were because if you attempted suicide it must not have been a life worth returning to, but what if it wasn't suicide?"

"What do you mean?" Erik mumbled into the pillows.

"What if someone tried to make it look like suicide? What if someone tried to off you?"

"Like attempted murder?" Erik seemed a little bit more attentive. "Seems like all the more reason not to go back to whatever life I had. What did I do that made someone want to kill me?"

Meredith shrugged. "I can think of one reason."

"Do you mean my face?" Erik considered this for a minute.

"I don't know, but there's no harm into talking to the librarian I mentioned."

Erik snuggled deeper into the pillows. "Do you really want me gone that badly?" He murmured, clearing falling back asleep.

"No, of course not. I like having company, but I don't want to keep you from people who care about you."

"I'm sure no one cares about me." That was the last thing Erik said before his soft snores filled the room. Meredith sighed and figured that now was a good a time as any to head into town.

Meredith felt predatory gazes as she wandered the market, looking at the fresh foods available and trying not to let her anxiety get the better of her. While most of the patrons of the market were minding her own business, she felt like everyone was looking at her, judging her. There were a few faces in the crowd who would look at her and sneer, only validating the intrusive thoughts that told her that all the people here were silently judging. She stood off to one side, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to get control of her breathing before facing the crowd again. She made her way around, getting all the food items she needed before retreating, desperate to get away. Weighed down by her groceries, she decided to pay a visit to her librarian friend.

Professor Alphonse was a retired school teacher, who has resigned himself to days behind stacks of books, and he was almost always reading when she wandered into the library.

"Good morning, Meredith," the old man wheezed when she stepped inside, setting her basket of groceries off to the side. The library was dark, with only thin beams of light slipping in through cracks in the blinds, where she could see the dust floating in the air. It was almost always empty here, and this place made Meredith feel at peace.

"Good morning, professor." Meredith nodded. He was a thin and reedy man, with thick glasses and wispy white hair. Around him, she didn't feel judged, she didn't feel abnormal, he just looked at her like she was one of his students.

"Need anything new to read?" He asked.

"Have any recommendations?" Meredith pressed, swinging her arms back and forth as she made her way to his desk.

"Mm," he looked around. "Here," he pulled a book out from under his desk, handing it to her. "Are you a fan of Dante?"

She hefted the Italian book in her hands. "_Inferno_?"

"Yes. It's a fascinating read." He adjusted his glasses.

"Thanks." She set the book with her basket.

"Have you been taking your medicine?" He asked, looking up at her seriously.

"It doesn't help, and it's expensive." She admitted. "I don't take it anymore. Besides, fresh air, cheese, and red meat is what is recommended for me, so I'm getting plenty of fresh air down on the beach."

The professor nodded sympathetically. "I'm sorry, hun."

"It's okay, mom had it, now I do. It's okay, really." She assured him. "I might have a friend I want you to see."

"A friend you say?" Professor Alphonse said, suddenly more interested. "You?"

"Yes me." Meredith laughed. "He doesn't remember who he is, and might want to do a little research on the person he used to be."

"Mm," he stroked his chin. "We'll bring your friend in and I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," Meredith said sincerely. "I really should go back now. He's not feeling well and I should get back to him."

"You take care of yourself, Meredith."

"I will, I promise."


	4. Chapter 4

Meredith set her groceries down on the counter, satisfied with her haul, glad she wouldn't need to go back in town for a while. She heard rustling in one of the back rooms and went to go investigate. Erik, wrapped in a blanket, was wandering around in the reading room. It was easily the biggest room in the house, with tall bookshelves lining the walls, a small reader's nook in the window on the opposite wall. In the middle of the room was a grand piano that had was hidden most of the time under a heavy blanket. The blanket prevented sun damage to the wood from the window. The piano had sat for years, largely untouched. Meredith used to play but hadn't done it since she was a child. Erik had removed the blanket at some point, the polished oak gleaming in the sunlight streaming in from the window.

"What are you doing?" Meredith asked, folding her arms.

"Sorry," Erik murmured, turning to face her. "I just... I passed this room on the way to the bathroom and..."

"No it's okay, you should really be in bed." Meredith ran her fingers over the smooth surface of the piano as she replaced the blanket. "Do you play piano?"

"I don't know."

"Well things thing probably needs to be tuned. I can take a look at if you want, though I don't know if I remember how to do it."

"It's alright." Erik followed her out of the room, laying back down in the guest room. "You like books, huh?"

"Books are better than people," she tucked Erik in a little, sitting on the edge of the bed. "They don't judge you." She pressed a hand to his head, trying to judge the severity of his temperature. She made a mental note to check his bandages in a few hours so she could keep his infection under control.

"Are you used to being judged, Meredith?"

"Yeah." Meredith sighed. "And I just have this awful anxiety that makes it so much worse than I'm sure it actually is. I'm just stupid."

"No, you're not." Erik mumbled, and he reached out and squeezed her hand. "You're not stupid."

"Thanks."

"So what's your favorite book?" Erik asked.

"Oh, uh," Meredith's brain stalled, taken aback by the sudden question. "I'm a big fan of Victor Hugo's work. But I think my favorite book is _Madame Bovary_."

Erik considered Meredith for a moment. "See, I feel like I've read that book, but I can't recall any details."

"Well, I own a copy should you ever want to refresh your memory." Meredith supplied. She patted his side. "Get some sleep. I'll wake you up in a few hours to change your bandages."

Meredith diced the mushrooms on the counter in front of her carefully, curling her fingers like you should to avoid them being cut. She sprinkled the mushrooms onto the chicken that sat in a pan, waiting to go into the oven she had already preheated. Next to it was risen dough that she was going to roll out and bake with the chicken. She wondered how much Erik would even be able to enjoy dinner, considering how sick he was, but she couldn't help but put a little effort into it, considering she never had guests. Coq au vin was the chicken dish she was preparing, and was basic dish for her, and she had made it so many times with her mother as a young woman. She washed the raw chicken off her hands and started working the dough. She checked the clock, throwing the loaf in the oven before going to check on Erik. He was still sleeping soundly, deep in the blankets. A quick hand pressed to his cheek revealed that his fever had gone down. She smiled slightly, deciding to let him sleep until dinner was ready.

Another hour or so passed and Erik finally stirred, getting up so Meredith could deal with his injuries. Every time she cleaned his head wound, he complained a little bit more every time. He had only been here a few days and she was already enjoying his company. This cottage got lonely with just her, Tabitha, and the ghosts.


	5. Chapter 5

It was still dark when Meredith awoke one night, a couple of weeks after Erik's initial arrival. She sat up, wondering sleepily what had woken her up. Across the hall she could hear moans and groans from Erik's room. She got up, tiptoeing across the hall and Erik's bedside. He was tossing and turning in the blankets, his face and chest covered in a layer of sweat. Moonlight streamed in through the curtains, illuminating his face which was twisted into a pained expression.

"Erik," she shook his shoulder. "Erik, it's okay, you're just having a nightmare. Erik!" She raised her voice a little and Erik shot upright, gasping for air. She rubbed his back, trying to soothe him. "It's alright."

He wiped his eyes, looking around, becoming more visibly calm, his breathing slowing down.

"What happened?" She asked. "What were you dreaming about?"

"There was a woman. She stood in the middle of a stage. She seemed to be trying to tell me something, but I couldn't hear her. Then something came crashing down, and everything caught fire. No matter where I turned I couldn't find a way out, everything was burning, and I could hear this woman's voice screaming and crying," he shook his head, as though that would get the remnants of the dream out of his head.

"Did you recognize the woman?"

"No. I don't remember if I did at least."

"Try to get some sleep, okay?" Meredith patted him on the shoulder before standing to return to her own room. Erik grabbed her hand.

"No! Please don't go. Just stay with me, just for little while, until I fall back asleep."

Meredith didn't have it in her to say no. Erik laid back down and Meredith settled down next to him, laying on her side, facing the wall. After about a half hour or so, Erik's breathing slowed down and his body relaxed, indicating he had finally fallen asleep. She was about to stand up and return to her own bed when Erik rolled over, throwing his arm around her and pulling her tightly to him from behind. She lay there, stunned. She had never been this close to a man before. Her heart fluttered in her chest and she decided to stay with Erik, letting sleep carry her away.

The next morning Meredith woke up still in Erik's bed, tangled up in his arms. She drank in his scent, lying there for a few more minutes before getting up and starting breakfast.

Erik rose just as she was getting the table set.

"Morning. Are you feeling any better?"

He scratched his head. "I guess."

"Did you sleep better?"

"I think so." He sat down at the table, looking like he was lost deep in thought.

"What's on your mind?" She asked.

"I remember you mentioned taking me into town, to talk to someone who might be able to help me figure out who I was."

"Yeah, Professor Alphonse." Meredith supplied. "Why, do you want to speak with him?"

Erik nodded slowly. "I think so."

"Do you think that dream had something to do with your past?"

"I don't know. And I may not know until I learn some information about who I was."

"I thought you didn't want to know."

"I don't, really, but curiosity killed the cat." He frowned suddenly. "See, I know that phrase, but I have no idea where I heard it. It's maddening really."

Meredith nodded. "I understand. I'll take you to see him next time I go into town, okay?"

Erik nodded. "Alright."


	6. Chapter 6

One morning, Meredith awoke to the sound of music filling the house. She got up, pulled a robe around her nightgown, and going out into the library. Erik sat behind the piano, playing a song that she couldn't tell if it was sad or happy.

"You remember how to play!" Meredith said happily.

"It's all muscle memory really." Erik smiled. "I don't know what song I'm playing though." His fingers danced across the keys, and for the first time in weeks Erik looked genuinely happy. He concentrated on his hands, trying to hum the tune, as if that would bring back the memory of him actually learning the song.

"Do you think you were a composer before?" Meredith asked. "Or some kind of musician?"

"It's possible." Erik shrugged. "Considering how effortlessly I know how to play, it's a possibility." He switched songs, this one just as beautiful as the last. He started it slowly, pressing the keys uncertainly before picking up the pace. He seemed to be mouthing something in time with the music.

"What's that?"

"What's what?" He stopped playing.

"You're mouthing something. Do you know the words to the song?"

Erik shrugged. "I think I do. But I don't know if I can even sing well."

"Try it!" Meredith said, suddenly very excited.

Erik was taken aback a little by her reaction, but he cleared his throat, straightened up, and then started the song over again.

_"Think of me, _

_Think of me fondly_

_When we've said goodbye." _

Erik's voice as akin to melted butter, his deep baritone voice completely blowing Meredith away. He hesitated a few times, but after a couple moments he returned to the song, growing more and more certain with each word. When he reached the end, he trailed off, suddenly looking sad again.

"What's wrong?" Meredith asked, sitting on the piano bench next to them.

"Nothing." He ran his fingers over the keys. "As soon as I started playing the piano, all this music just started playing in my head. I don't know how I know them, where I learned them... and I hear this voice. A woman's voice. When I sang that song, I could hear her. Distantly, like through water," he shook his head. "Christine."

The paper that they assumed was a suicide note that had been on Erik when Meredith found him had been addressed to a Christine.

"Should I find her, does she miss me? Is she dead?"

"What makes you say that?" Meredith asked, taken aback by the suggestion.

"Because of that dream I had, the one with the fire. Was that why I tried to kill myself?" Erik murmured. "Not knowing is driving me insane."

"I thought you said that ignorance was better." Meredith murmured.

"Maybe. I don't know. I might regret knowing who I was, but I feel like I should get that chance."

She figured it was about time to go into town and speak to the professor.

Raoul De Chagny wasn't able to sleep. He stared at the ceiling for a long time, as his fiancé slept soundly beside him. She was curled up, turned away from him, dreaming with little concern. Raoul was far from sleep; his mind buzzing and wiring, trying to come up with some solution for his problem. He didn't even know if there was a problem, but his subconscious was telling him otherwise.

He and Christine were due to be married in three months, but the closer the wedding date drew near, the further she seemed to get away from him. She wasn't concerned about any wedding planning, and she pulled back whenever he tried to bring it up to her. His sisters had been exclusively planning the wedding since Christine has shown no interest in it. Of course this could have meant a couple of things: that Christine just didn't want to have a huge wedding and was just overwhelmed by it all. She grew up poor, he knew that, and suddenly just being surrounded by all this wealth might have put her off slightly. There was another option that he didn't even want to consider.

That she was no longer in love with him.

It seemed stupid and silly, considering all they had gone through at the opera house, how they had fought for each other... but now the fight was over. They were both safe and the adrenaline and thrill had worn off. On the other side it had left Raoul still hopelessly in love with the soprano lying next to him, but what about Christine? He wanted to tell himself that his imagination was getting the better of him, that the approaching wedding date was just making him nervous and anxious. But what if he as right? What if Christine didn't love him anymore? Even worse what if she was still in love with...

_Him_?


	7. Chapter 7

Erik followed Meredith apprehensively as she led him into this dusty old library.

"Good morning, Meredith." Professor Alphonse said, pushing his glasses up his nose. They approached the desk, and Erik desperately tried not to knock over the random piles of books piled on the floor.

"Ignore the mess," the professor stepped out from behind his desk, embracing Meredith. "So this is your friend?"

"Yeah, this is Erik."

Erik shook the older man's hand, being careful not to squeeze too tight for fear of accidentally breaking the other his hand. The professor was thin and frail, and Erik thought a strong breeze would blow him over.

"So you have no memory of who you are, huh?"

"Not really." Erik murmured. "I know how to play the piano, I remember some songs, but that's about it."

"I wrote down the lyrics of the song," Meredith admitted, pulling out a piece of paper and handing it over. Professor Alphonse looked it over, and Erik suddenly found himself embarrassed for no reason.

"I know where this is from." He snapped his fingers and shuffled away, returning after a few moments with a leather folder. "_Hannibal_."

"What?" Erik blinked.

"It's an opera." He handed over the packet of papers, letting Erik sift through the sheet music. He found the song that he hand played on the piano the other day, the one that had been tormenting him ever since it came back to him.

"I've been checking missing persons," Alphonse admitted, "but now that I've seen you Erik... well I don't think anyone who matches your description has been reported missing."

"Right." Erik murmured. "So no one is looking for me. No one wants me."

"Depends on your definition of wanted." Alphonse muttered. "Meredith, when did he turn up?"

When she told him the date he took a deep breath, glancing in Erik's direction, looking suddenly wary.

"Meredith, I must speak with you in private." He pulled her arm and tugged her off to a back room, leaving Erik standing by the professor's desk, thumbing through the opera in his hands.

"Meredith, I think this man might be lying about the amnesia." Professor Alphonse hissed, once he and Meredith were out of earshot of Erik.

"What?" Meredith said incredulously. "No, it's clear that he has no idea who he is."

"Be that as it may, but this man is dangerous."

"What makes you say that?"

Professor Alphonse pulled out another news paper article. "I saw his face and I knew, and then he had a connection to _Hannibal_." He shook his head.

"What are you going on about?" Meredith demanded.

"Several months ago, did you hear about the tragedy at the Opera Populaire? Where a soprano was kidnapped and three people were killed in a chandelier crash and another person was found strangled back stage?"

Meredith recalled hearing about it just a few days before Erik showed up. "I guess so, why?"

"Because the man who did this was called the opera ghost, and when he appeared on stage, he wore a mask, and when it came off it was revealed that half of his face was horribly disfigured."

"Oh." Meredith peered around a bookcase, looking at where Erik was standing. Idly, he was flipping through the opera music that Alphonse had given him. He didn't look like a someone capable of murder and kidnap.

"You may want to get the police involved," the professor muttered.

"No," Meredith said quickly, but suddenly reconsidered that notion. She remembered when Erik had first woken up, and he had pinned her against a wall. But if Erik had wanted to hurt her, she lived in a remote cottage on the beach, far from other people where no one would hear her scream. She shivered suddenly at the thought, reminded of her father.

"Look, if Erik was a danger to me, he would have proven it to me by now. He's lived in my house for a few months now, I genuinely think that he had no idea who he was."

"Okay," the professor muttered. "But what happens when he wakes up and he remembers who he is? Remembering how to play piano is muscle memory, but actually remembering entire songs with lyrics included means that his memory is fighting it's way back into his head. Do you want to be around when he realizes who he was?"

Meredith took a breath. "Look, I found him washed up on the beach, a suicide note in his pocket. What if the papers have it wrong? Wasn't it a chandelier crash that killed those people? What if it was an accident, who who knows how truthful that soprano was. She could have spun up this story to make it more spectacular thank it actually was. What if Erik was a scapegoat, because of his face? That they just blamed the man with a disfigurement?"

Alphonse looked skeptical but he could see it in Meredith's eyes that he wasn't going to persuade her to give Erik up to the police.

"You fight to hard to find the good in people who don't deserve it, and you always get hurt because of it." He sighed and put a hand on her shoulder. "I want to be wrong, I really do. I don't want him to hurt you. I hope you're right."

"Thanks." Meredith muttered. "Thanks for your help," and with that, she bid the professor goodbye and she and Erik left.

Back at the house, Erik sat down behind the piano, playing the new songs from _Hannibal_ the professor had given him. The choice words that the professor had given her hung heavy on her mind. She didn't know if she should tell Erik about the Opera Ghost and about the chandelier crash and the supposedly kidnapped soprano or if she should just keep it to herself. Erik had seemed satisfied with discoing _Hannibal_, so she hoped that would help ease his memory back and they learned the truth about what happened. She just hoped that she was right about Erik. He wasn't capable of all those tragedies, was he?

_Was he?_


	8. Chapter 8

Christine Daae chewed in the nail of her thumb nervously, wondering what would happen once she finally told Raoul. Chewing her nails was a nasty habit she had devolved in childhood that she had thought she had grown out of. Occasionally the bad habit reared its ugly head, especially in moments like this. Christine sat on the edge of the bed she shared with Raoul, staring at her feet, waiting for him to come upstairs. She had so much she needed to tell him, but she didn't have the words.

"Hello, luv," he kissed her briefly before pulling away and pulling off his coat, hanging it on a hook by the door. "What's wrong?"

"Raoul," She looked up at him with wide eyes that seemed to betray her thoughts. Raoul seemed like he needed a moment.

"Christine, please just..." he put a hand over his mouth, eyes glittering.

"I'm sorry," she had to look away from him, eyes filling with tears.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, grabbing her hands. "Please, Christine, tell me what I'm doing wrong, what I can do to make this better, please, I will do anything."

"Raoul, its not anything you've done." Christine said, trying to convey how sorry she was that it had come to this. "I'm just, I'm not in love."

"You mean you're not in love with me." Raoul said, tears falling down his face now. "Please tell me it's not him. Anything but that."

Christine sighed. "I can't help it. There's just..."

"Christine, he kidnapped you, terrorized you."

"He was also my teacher." Christine snapped back. "He was the reason I ever had any chance at a career, he gave me my life back. He was my friend for months, when I would cry myself to sleep in the dormitories he would sing me to sleep. In the months I knew him, he was a comfort to me." Christine wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't expect you to understand."

"No, I don't!" Raoul took a moment to control himself. "I really don't Christine. I can give you everything. Safety, a warm bed, food, shelter. I can give you all the love my body can possibly possess." He begged.

Christine felt her resolve cracking around the edges. But she had to do this.

"Raoul this has never been about money for me, you know that. I want to love you, I _do_ love you, but not the way you need me too." She slid off the bed, going to her knees in front of him, getting on his level. She put her hands on his face. "Raoul please, I need to find him, make sure he's okay. Please."

He took her wrists in his hands, crying silently for a minute. "Christine I could never say no to you. I want to give you the world. So if letting you go is what you want, then that's what I'll have to do."

Meredith pulled a small wooden box out from under her bed, flipping the latch and opening it. She turned the news article over in her hands, the one about the opera ghost, scanning it briefly with her eyes. In her wooden box was an array of paper and other newspaper clippings. Her eyes wandered to Erik's suicide note, with _Christine_ written across the top. She looked back over at the paper, seeing _Christine Daae _printed there.

"Oh shit," Meredith breathed. She wondered where this Christine Daae was now. According to the article, she ran off with a vicomte, Raoul De Chagny. This Christine had to know what really happened.

"What are those?"

Meredith jumped and slammed her box shut before turning to confront Erik. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"I didn't realize I was sneaking." Erik said. He stood next to her. "What's in here?"

"Nothing," Meredith stuffed it back under her bed, straightening up.

"You have secrets, Meredith," Erik said, almost surprised.

"I don't have any good ones," Meredith muttered, ushering him out of her room. "Now shoo!"

"Alright alright, I'm going." Erik said, bemused.

"Has _Hannibal_ brought anything back?" Meredith asked.

"I went though all the music, and it's like deja vu," Erik rubbed his head. "Maybe I'll get more back, who knows."

Meredith did her best to try and smile.


	9. Chapter 9

Erik pulled out a shirt out of the back of the closet, shaking it out and inspecting it. He had ran out of clean ones to wear and he was too embarrassed to ask Meredith to do his laundry. She already did everything else for him, he figured he could wash his own nickers. So far he had figured wrong. The shirt was white, but there was something staining the sleeves and part of the front. Upon further inspection, it looked like blood. It suddenly occurred to Erik to wonder about who these clothes belonged to.

"Meredith," He stepped out into the hallway, still holding the shirt.

"Yeah?" Meredith appeared from the kitchen.

"Uh, this shirt...it has blood on it." Erik held it out.

"Oh," her face went pale. "Just throw it away then."

"I didn't, it was already there."

"I-I know. Just throw it out please." She turned away from him, visibly shaken.

"Meredith," Erik called after her. "Who did these clothes belong to?" When she remained silent he tried to offer other explanations in the hope she would take the bait. "A previous lover? Husband? Brother? Father?"

The last one seemed to cause a change. "No one." She snapped. "Just get rid of the shirt."

So She did have secrets. He wondered what her father would have done to illicit such a reaction. He moved to return to his bedroom, but he noticed that Meredith's bedroom door was open slightly. He listened for a moment, hearing her bustling around in the kitchen. He slipped into her room, pulling out that little wooden box from under the bed. He opened the lid slowly, and was met with a bunch of news paper articles. He pulled them out, shuffling though them, staring with the one in the back.

_Local Man Brutally Attacks Wife and Daughters _

"Oh no," Erik breathed, and he kept reading.

_Marcus Durand was arrested last night on assault allegations, after his wife and two daughters altered the police, covered head to toe in bruises. _

The next article described that Marcus had been let off the hook due to a lack of evidence. That one was followed by a few, paragraph long insertions about the girls who cried wolf, claiming their father hurt them. Then Erik saw a headline that made his stomach churn.

_Young Girl Killed at Hands of Father _

_Claire Durand was found dead in her home, age ten, allegedly murdered by her father, Marcus Durand, who has been brought up on assault charges by his wife in the past._

Erik felt sick, and guilty that he had let curiosity get the better of him. He put the articles back in the box, replacing it quickly. He slipped out of Meredith's room, burdened with the weight of the knowledge he now possessed. He guessed that Claire was Meredith's sister. She had died when she was only ten years old. Had Meredith witnessed what her father had done? He made sure to drop that shirt off in the nearest bin. He suddenly felt dirty wearing the clothes of a murderer. He couldn't imagine ever taking the life of another human, it just wasn't right.

Erik pulled out a shirt out of the back of the closet, shaking it out and inspecting it. He had ran out of clean ones to wear and he was too embarrassed to ask Meredith to do his laundry. She already did everything else for him, he figured he could wash his own nickers. So far he had figured wrong. The shirt was white, but there was something staining the sleeves and part of the front. Upon further inspection, it looked like blood. It suddenly occurred to Erik to wonder about who these clothes belonged to.

"Meredith," He stepped out into the hallway, still holding the shirt.

"Yeah?" Meredith appeared from the kitchen.

"Uh, this shirt...it has blood on it." Erik held it out.

"Oh," her face went pale. "Just throw it away then."

"I didn't, it was already there."

"I-I know. Just throw it out please." She turned away from him, visibly shaken.

"Meredith," Erik called after her. "Who did these clothes belong to?" When she remained silent he tried to offer other explanations in the hope she would take the bait. "A previous lover? Husband? Brother? Father?"

The last one seemed to cause a change. "No one." She snapped. "Just get rid of the shirt."

So She did have secrets. He wondered what her father would have done to illicit such a reaction. He moved to return to his bedroom, but he noticed that Meredith's bedroom door was open slightly. He listened for a moment, hearing her bustling around in the kitchen. He slipped into her room, pulling out that little wooden box from under the bed. He opened the lid slowly, and was met with a bunch of news paper articles. He pulled them out, shuffling though them, staring with the one in the back.

_Local Man Brutally Attacks Wife and Daughters _

"Oh no," Erik breathed, and he kept reading.

_Marcus Durand was arrested last night on assault allegations, after his wife and two daughters altered the police, covered head to toe in bruises. _

The next article described that Marcus had been let off the hook due to a lack of evidence. That one was followed by a few, paragraph long insertions about the girls who cried wolf, claiming their father hurt them. Then Erik saw a headline that made his stomach churn.

_Young Girl Killed at Hands of Father _

_Claire Durand was found dead in her home, age ten, allegedly murdered by her father, Marcus Durand, who has been brought up on assault charges by his wife in the past._

Erik felt sick, and guilty that he had let curiosity get the better of him. He put the articles back in the box, replacing it quickly. He slipped out of Meredith's room, burdened with the weight of the knowledge he now possessed. He guessed that Claire was Meredith's sister. She had died when she was only ten years old. Had Meredith witnessed what her father had done? He made sure to drop that shirt off in the nearest bin. He suddenly felt dirty wearing the clothes of a murderer. He couldn't imagine ever taking the life of another human, it just wasn't right.


	10. Chapter 10

For whatever reason, for the next week or so, Erik couldn't quite meet Meredith's eyes, dodging her questions with simple one word answers and spending most of his time locked up in the library with the piano. She enjoyed when the house was filled with the sound of music, but she wished Erik would talk to her again. She wondered what was on his mind. She wondered if more of his memory was coming back, and that was why he was so withdrawn. She was scared that the article was right, scared that she had let a killer into her house. But the other half of her desperately needed that article to be wrong. She wasn't going to share a house with another killer.

She stood outside the library door, listening to Erik play. This song was new, she hadn't heard it before. She pressed her ear to the door, and she could hear him singing softly. Was this song was new. Was he composing? She stayed with her ear to the door, listening to him sing.

She was struck with sudden, sharp pain in her abdomen, and she cried out in pain and surprise. She squeezed her arms around her stomach, waiting for the pain to subside.

"Meredith?" Erik opened the door. "What's wrong?"

Meredith held up a hand, indicating that he should wait.

"A-are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Meredith said through gritted teeth as she straightened back up. "It's normal, just drop it."

"Should you see a doctor?" Erik asked, looking skeptical.

"I've seen one. It's fine, I'm fine." She insisted. "Were you writing music?"

"I guess? I don't know. It could be something I knew from before and I'm just writing it down, but this actually feels new, not like the other music that I've played." He rubbed the back of his head.

"That's good." Meredith smiled. She stared into his cold blue eyes, feeling her stomach turn over. She knew in her heart that she was in love with this man, but she didn't even know who he was, hell, _he_ didn't even know who he was. And yet...

Meredith excused herself to her room, and Erik disappeared back into the library. She found the article describing the opera ghost incident, reading it for the umpteenth time. _Christine Daae._ The name stood out on the page. She decided that she needed to find her. She needed answers.

Meredith adjusted her skirts as she approached the De Chagny mansion, scared out of her mind. What if they just turned her away? Or worse, what if this Christine Daae was here?

A maid came to the door when she knocked and she looked upon Meredith with some distain.

"I'm sorry, but the vicomte is not taking visitors at this time," she started to close the door before Meredith stopped her.

"Wait! Tell him it's important, tell him," she did know what possessed her to say the next thing, but she blurted out: "Tell him it's about the Opera Ghost!"

That brought the vicomte running. He was a handsome man, with well groomed blonde hair that fell just above his shoulders and kind baby blue eyes. He had bags under his eyes, and he looked exhausted.

"Madam," he said, trying to regain some composure as he went to the door, stepping out onto the top step. "if this is some kind of cruel joke I assure you it's not funny."

"I know," Meredith assured him. "And I'm sorry to have alarmed you, but your maid wasn't going to let me in." She took a breath. "Look, I'm looking for Christine Daae."

The vicomte deflated. "I'm afraid Ms. Daae left me. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Oh." Maybe this man would have the answers she needed. "Look, I found this man washed up on a beach near my house. He's tall, with blonde hair and one side of his face is badly disfigured."

The man's face twisted into a snarl. "That sounds like Erik."

"He doesn't remember anything about who he is," Meredith insisted. "I think he tried to commit suicide, he had a note and everything, but he hit his head really bad. He has no clue about any of this, and neither did I until I found this." She showed him the article that has been hanging over her head the past month or so. "And I just want to know how accurate this is."

He scanned it over before handing it back. "This isn't even the worst of it."

Meredith's heart sunk into her stomach. "Oh."

He smiled a sad, understanding smile. "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

"I don't..." Meredith swallowed her denial.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Meredith."

"I'm Raoul." He held out his hand to her. "Would you like to come inside, have a cup of tea?"

"Yeah." Meredith murmured. She followed Raoul into the house, which was far grander than anything she had ever seen before. They made their way into the sitting room, where Raoul asked the maid to bring them a pot of tea and a few mugs.

"I'm surprised you aren't angrier with me, or insisting we tell the police."

Raoul sighed. "Trust me, it would bring me inconceivable amounts of joy to see that man locked up for the rest of his life. But Christine left to find him. And I know it would hurt her if I locked him up, and that's the last thing I would want to do."

Meredith nodded. The maid brought out the tea, and Meredith sipped hers gratefully. Her stomach was tossing and turning with the idea that the man she had opened her home to had been responsible for all that destruction.

"Don't feel bad. You're not the only woman he fooled."

"Here's the thing, I don't think he was fooling me. Like I said, he doesn't remember anything. The only thing he has is a couple of songs that he knows, from Hannibal."

Raoul nodded. "So if Christine finds him, he probably won't even remember who he is?"

"Probably." Meredith admitted. "But maybe if I bring Christine to him, he'll remember who he was and he'll leave."

"Don't want a killer in your home?"

"I don't," Meredith admitted. "My mother did, and," Meredith wasn't going to divulge the whole story to this stranger, but he seemed to understand.

"If I see Christine, I tell her where she can find you."

"Thank you."


	11. Chapter 11

Meredith returned home with a heavy heart that night, once she was done speaking with Raoul. When she returned to the house, Erik was sitting on the beach, staring at the water.

"Hey," Meredith murmured, sitting next to him.

"I'm considering throwing myself into the ocean again."

"You remember, don't you?"

Erik nodded slowly. "And you know, obviously. How I killed all those people, burned down an opera house, and kidnapped and tormented the only woman I ever loved." He ran a hand over his face. "I don't deserve to live. And I'm so sorry, about your sister, Meredith, I'm so sorry, and I'll understand if you don't want me to stay."

"How did you know about Claire?" Meredith demanded.

"I found those clippings in that box. I didn't mean to pry, but..."

"So you'll know that my mother let that man live with us, and until the day she died I never forgave her for not fighting hard enough for my sister and I."

Erik nodded. "I'm so sorry, Meredith. And I will leave right now and never look back."

"Erik," she didn't know what to say. She didn't want him to go, but the idea of him staying made her stomach churn. But the Erik she knew... if his memories were back, the Erik she knew was gone.

"Erik, I think I know how to find Christine." Meredith murmured.

He scoffed. "So what? You want to take me to her so I can be rejected again?" He demanded.

"No, Erik... I went and talked to Raoul. She's trying to find you, she left him."

Erik jerked his head up. "Really? S-she's trying to find me?"

"So I've heard," Meredith muttered. "Look, Erik, you have a chance to be happy, with her."

Erik considered this for a long time. "I don't... I don't deserve her. I had to let her go because she deserved to be with Raoul."

"That right there proves that you're a different man than the one you were before." Meredith said. "Besides, you don't get to choose what she deserves. She does. You should try and find her, see if you two can find your happy ending."

And with that she left him on the beach. She felt like her heart had been destroyed. Because of her father, she couldn't ask Erik to stay, but it would kill her to see him go, especially since she would be handing him off to a woman who loves him. Meredith was in love with him, there was no denying it, but they just weren't right for each other. Besides, Erik has never ever looked at her twice. There was no way he would ever love her.


	12. Chapter 12

Alphonse looked up from his desk as Meredith entered, her face pale and gaunt.

"Meredith." He stood up, concerned.

"I'm okay," she said. "I need your help one more time."

"Here, sit," he offered her his chair and she accepted it gratefully. "What do you need?"

"I need to see if you can find Christine Daae."

"Why?"

"Because Erik remembers who he is, and Christine is looking for him."

He sighed. "Meredith, are you sure? I mean, we can still go to the police with this."

"Alphonse, I just... he's been my only friend, and hasn't given me any reason not to trust him. I just I want...I need him to go." She hung her head.

"You...you're in love with him, aren't you?" He asked quietly.

"I... I can't be in love with him." Meredith insisted. "He loves Christine, they were meant to be together."

Alphonse inhaled deeply. "I'll see if there's anything I can do, but unless Christine is nearby, there isn't much I _can_ do."

"Thanks anyway, Alphonse."

"You really should see a doctor, Meredith."

"It wouldn't do me any good." Meredith ran a hand through her red curls. "You know it."

"I know, I just I worry about you."

"I'm going to go back home now, I'll see you later."

"Take care of yourself."

"I'll try."

Meredith was exhausted by the time she got home. She really wanted to lie down, but she heard Erik was playing that new song again. She leaned against the door, listening to him, her eyes closed.

_"-still I ache, deep in my core. My broken soul, can't be alive or whole, til I hear you sing," _he sung softly.

It almost made Meredith want to cry, hearing how much he missed Christine and wanted to be back with her. And the song was beautiful.

"Why can't you love me instead?" She murmured. "Couldn't you write a song about me?"

She took care of him for months. She fed him, clothed him, and tended to his wounds. She could have turned him over to the police, or she could have left him lying on that beach, and had never put herself through all this. She had no friends in this world, just her cat. But what did it matter? What did _she_ matter?


	13. Chapter 13

Meredith rubbed her head as she made her way to the front door. No one ever came to call, so she was a little nervous that someone was knocking on her door so early in the morning. She swung the door open, and standing on her top step was a thin woman, with long curly hair.

"Hello?" Meredith demanded.

She looked a little taken aback. "Are you Meredith?"

"Yeah, what do you want?"

"I'm... my name is Christine. Raoul told me I could find you here."

Meredith felt like the wind had been knocked out of her.

"Meredith, who's here?"

Erik!" Christine cried out, running past Meredith and into Erik's arms. Pain stabbed Meredith's heart as she watched Erik kissing Christine.

"My angel of music, I thought I would never see you again," Erik murmured, holding Christine tightly to his chest, tears glistening in his eyes.

"It was a mistake leaving you," Christine said, burning her face into his shirt.

Meredith turned away, unable to watch. She felt so stupid for thinking she and Erik could just live forever together in her little cottage by the sea.

She felt something creep up the back of her throat, and she ran to the bathroom. She waited until she was decent again before emerging again, face pale and feeling bloated. Who was she compared to Christine? At least she could leave knowing Erik was going to be happy.

Erik kissed Christine with everything he had, his joy in seeing her like nothing he had ever felt before.

"Oh Erik," she murmured, "I thought for sure you must be dead."

"If it were not for our love, I would be." He said into her hair. He set her down, holding her face in his hands.

"So Raoul really let you leave? Just like that?" Erik asked.

"He let me go," Christine said, running her hands over the back of his neck. He

embraced her again, holding her tightly to his chest.

"My Christine, my sweet Christine," he just wanted to say her name forever, to just stand here and hold her, so she would not leave him again.

"Meredith?" Erik called. A noise came from the kitchen, and he went in. Meredith was bent over the counter, her back facing him. He pulled her into a hug, and she seemed to go limp in his arms.

"Thank you Meredith, for all your help and reuniting me with my angel." He said, and she only pushed him away, wiping her eyes.

"You should go Erik, be with Christine." Meredith assured him.

"I won't forget you, Meredith."

"I'm sure you will."

As Erik left, Meredith broke down completely. She had never been good at goodbyes, or anything. She was just not good enough for anything, perhaps her father had been right all along.


	14. Chapter 14

Erik ran a hand across his forehead as he listened to Christine ramble on about the wedding plans. His mind kept wandering and he was not hearing most of what Christine was even saying. Oddly enough he kept thinking about Meredith. Meredith would listen to him, even when he was going on about the same thing over and over, but she still listened. Christine hardly let him get a word in edgewise, and he had hardly a moment to tell him about his months with Meredith.

"Red roses would be more traditional, and symbolic, what do you think Erik?"

He jerked, his head coming off his arm and he looked at her blearily.

"What?" he asked.

"Red roses or lilies?" She asked again, gesturing to the two flowers. Erik smiled sadly as he picked up the rose, twirling it in his fingers.

"Roses," he murmured, setting the rose among the other mass of object Christine had piled in front of him.

"Christine," Erik said slowly, "do you think we are rushing into this?"

She cocked her head staring at him. "Is something wrong?"

"No," he muttered, and she moved around the table, sitting on his lap and kissing him forcibly. She wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing her body closer to his. Erik sighed as she released him.

"I'm sorry, I'm just trying to make up for lost time." Christine murmured.

"It's okay, love." Erik kissed her deeply. He wanted to translate to her that he had changed, that he wasn't the man who had teetered on the edge of that cliff months ago. He felt remorse for what had happened, and he could give Christine the love she deserves.

But was she the one who needed his love?

Meredith stroked Tabitha's head with one hand, turning a page of her book with the other hand. She was curled up in the little nook in the library, the sun streaming in through the window. Erik had been gone a week, and this house was too empty without him. She was so used to the sound of music filling the house, and now it was just so quiet. Too quiet.

She stood up as someone approached the front door.

"Raoul," she said with surprise as she swung open the door.

"Hi, Meredith." He said. "Do you mind if I come in?"

Meredith wavered in the doorway, her strength ebbing the longer she remained upright.

"Yeah, sure." She stepped aside and let him in. Under normal circumstances she would have offered him tea, but now she has no energy.

"I heard Erik and Christine found their way to each other." Raoul said sadly.

"Yeah. He's happy now," Meredith said. "That's all I want."

Raoul considered her. "What about your happiness, Meredith?"

"My happiness doesn't matter." She insisted. "Besides, Erik deserves to be with someone who's sure about him. I'm half in love with him, half disgusted by the things that he's done. Christine is willing to love him for all he is, and that's enough."

"Cheers to that. At least you are not willing to see past who he really is." Raoul nodded to her with a new found respect. "But your happiness does matter, Meredith."

"Not for much longer." She murmured.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." She said quickly. "How have you been?"

"No worse for wear." Raoul nodded sadly. "Dealing with the heartbreak, though I doubt I'll turn to a cliff to solve my problems."

Meredith let the cheap jab at Erik slide.

"I'm sorry, you seem like a good person. You deserve better."

Raoul tilted his head back and laughed. "I don't know if I'll ever find a woman as perfect as Christine Daae, but I appreciate the sentiment." He wiped tears from his eyes, and it was lost on Meredith as to what was so funny. He sobered quickly, staring down at his feet. "I'm not sure if I'll ever recover."

Meredith patted his shoulder. "It will ease with time. It will never truly go away, but it will get easier to manage. Loss is never easy."

"Thanks for giving it to me straight." Raoul said dryly, but he smiled a little. "You're not talking about Erik are you?"

Meredith shook her head. "I lost my little sister when I was young. Like I said, the pain of loss never really ever leaves, but you will grow and learn how to deal. And don't give up on love."

She wondered dimly about what was so great about Christine Daae, anyway.


	15. Chapter 15

Meredith laid on the beach, staring up at the stars. Her breath was slow and heavy, her chest rising and falling with extra effort. Professor Alphonse had managed to get her morphine, so she rode on a cloud of high painlessness. The stars seemed to dance and move in the sky.

She thought about her sister, how they had used to play on this beach, digging in the sand and creating kingdoms, they the queens the crabs their citizens. They would look for shells which became their currency, the prettiest ones having the most value. She remembered the days when her mother had still had happiness, before her smile was chipped away little by little by every new bruise or harsh word. Meredith remember when her mother used to take her shoes off, hike her skirts up, and would wade a few feet into the ocean, just so it rose to the middle of her calves. She would just stand there, watching the ocean, letting the tide rise higher and higher around her legs, not caring if the skirts of her dress got wet. Meredith and her sister would call to their mother, but she couldn't seem to hear her children, like she was somewhere far away. Or was at least wishing she was. After Meredith's sister died and her father had went to jail, Meredith lost her mother and was shipped off to go live with her aunt, and the beach side house laid dormant until Meredith turned 18. Then Meredith had lived alone. It had just been her and her cat since then and now...

She wasn't sure if she had regrets. So much of her life had been so far out of her control, that if she had allowed herself to sit and dwell on it for too long she would have been so resentful it would have consumed her. No, despite the hardships she had done her best to be happy. She had her cat and her books in her little house by the sea, learning how to bake and enjoying the ocean.

With a contented sigh she dug her hands and feet into the wet sand, feeling the grains between her fingers and toes. The ocean lapped lazily against her feet, like it was gently trying to pull her in. She remembered Erik when he had washed up on this beach. She supposed she had one regret. She never had the chance to tell him how she felt, and she had no idea if her letter would ever get to him. She hoped it never did. She did not want him to feel bad about following his heart. She did not want Erik to think of her and feel bad about never seeing how in love with him she had been. She didn't want Erik to have any regrets, but she couldn't bear him never knowing how she felt. So she wrote the letter on the off chance it may fall into his hands. And if it didn't...it was just as well.

Meredith could feel sleep creeping up on her, and with a contented sigh, she closed her eyes and let sleep carry her away.

Erik stared blankly at the ceiling, unable to find sleep. It was the night before he was supposed to be wed to Christine, but he was not kept up by excitement. If anything, he regarded the idea of this marriage with keen uninterest. At first, he chalked it up to him being a man, and having no desire to help in the wedding planning, but he realized that the more time he had spent with Christine, the more his love for her faded. When he had known her in the opera house, he only ever had a tiny window into her life. He experienced tiny snippets of it from behind the barrier of a mirror, under the guise of the Angel of Music. He had raised her up on this high pedestal, and he created this idea of her in his head. She was this perfect angel who could do no wrong. Now he was spending all this time with her...there was nothing wrong with her per say, but she wasn't what he had imagined her to be.

He sat up in the bed, rubbing his eyes.

He found himself thinking about Meredith.

Meredith. The woman who had done everything for him. He needed to find her. To go to her. Maybe he had had what he wanted all along with her. Was there anyway Meredith felt the same way? He didn't know if he was in love with her, but when he thought of her warm smile and tightly curled red hair it made his heart sing.

He stood up suddenly. He needed to find her. He looked down at Christine, a hand squeezing his heart. He didn't want to abandon her, but he couldn't leave this alone. He wrote her a note, telling her that he would be back, and he set out into the night.


	16. Chapter 16

Erik burst into Meredith's home, unable to contain himself. He looked around, surprised Meredith wasn't awake yet. She was usually up at this hour. She rose with the sun, and was usually baking by now.

"Meredith!" Erik called. "Meredith!"

Someone emerged from her room, holding Tabitha. It was professor Alphonse.

"Where's Meredith?" Erik asked. "I need to find her, I have to tell her something."

Alphonse didn't respond right away, instead giving Erik a long sad look.

"Erik...Meredith passed away. Just last night. I've been visiting her every morning to make sure she's okay, and when I came here this morning..."

Erik felt like someone had punched a hole in his chest. His knees felt weak and tears sprang to his eyes.

"Oh god," he breathed, pressing a hand to his mouth. "W-what happened?"

"She's been sick for a long time. Her mother died of the same disease, it sort of ran in her family. It was called Bright's disease. It's kidney failure. Most people who contract it don't make it to 30."

Erik sat down, his face in his hands. "I had no idea, she never said anything, she didn't look sick."

"She was really good at hiding it. I was the only one who ever knew, and it didn't get really bad until the last few months."

The last few months, when Erik had been away. Meredith had suffered alone in this house, and he was off pretending to be in love with someone from his past.

"If you must know, I don't really have that high of an opinion of you, considering your reputation," Alphonse admitted.

"I don't have much of a high opinion of myself either." Erik said. "It doesn't even feel like it was me who did all those things, the amnesia and all." He wiped tears from eyes. "I wish I would have known."

"I'm sorry Erik. She was happy when you were around. That was the only reason I didn't turn you into the police."

"I should just turn myself in." Erik said. "I don't deserve to be free."

"Meredith wouldn't want that." Alphonse assured him. "She'd want you to be happy."

He didn't even know what it felt like to be happy. He thought he had found that with Meredith, but now she was gone.

And he had nothing.


	17. Chapter 17 (Epilogue)

Erik lifted the calico cat onto the bed, and Christine looked up from her book and squealed with delight. She grasped the cat, who hissed in discomfort.

"Oh we should call her patches, or fluffy," Christine said, scratching her on the head.

"Her name is Tabitha," Erik muttered, running a hand over the cat's back as she escaped from Christine's grip. She purred happily, curling up on Erik's lap. The gold ring on his left hand glittered in the candle light of the room. He glanced at it, almost guiltily, but he forced his eyes back on Christine.

"Where did you get her?" Christine asked, and Erik shrugged.

"A gift for my beautiful wife," He said, kissing her. He pulled away quickly, and he gave the cat back to her. She yawned and lay back in the bed, still holding Tabitha. He stood up, and he moved to a box on his dresser, and opened it. It was the box of secrets Meredith had kept under her bed, and now it held one of his own. When going through Meredith's things, Alphonse had found a letter addressed to Erik from Meredith. He opened it and read for what felt like the millionth time.

_Erik, _

_I don't know if you will ever read this, or if you will even care, but I needed you to know that I loved you. I'm no good with words, and obviously it will be too late by the time you read this, if you ever read it, but I was never afraid of you, only afraid of my feelings. Afraid of you leaving. So I pushed you away, pushed you into Christine's arms before you had the chance to run from me and never look back. I'm sorry I was never strong enough to tell you this when I was still alive, but know I will find comfort in death. I don't have to hurt anymore, I can be with my sister again._

_With love, forever and always,_

_Meredith._

Erik walked along the beach, letting the water lap up over his bare feet. He could see Meredith's cottage in the distance, sitting a safe distance from the water on a little hill. He smiled sadly as he thought about that cottage. Erik was wearing all black, and he did not care that his nice suit was getting ruined by the sea water. He would not want to keep a suit from a funeral anyway...  
He knew the cottage would be abandoned, but he just wanted to enter it one last time. Death hung around the empty rooms and the cold oven, infecting the house like a plague. Everything looked just as he remembered it, even though everything had changed.

He walked slowly on the shore line again as the sun began to set, and he closed his eyes as tears poured over his cheeks.  
He looked down at the sand at his feet, letting the tears roll off his face, and he thought he saw footprints beside his own, indents of small femine feet. When he blinked after a moment, he saw that the foot prints had been imaginary. _Or from a ghost_, he thought. If she was still here, he knew that she would be walking beside him.


End file.
